At Last
by strikeachord
Summary: AU: It's been over a year since he left for the war. Kurt waits at home, living a boring life. One day Burt calls Kurt...


The sun shone through the half-closed blinds of the window across the room, urging Kurt to wake up. He could feel its bright rays through his closed eyelids; he turned over in his king-sized bed, facing the wall. That was _his _side of the bed. He could almost smell _his_ scent, could hear _him _breathing softly beside him. Kurt opened his eyes, half expecting _him_ to be there, but of course, no one was there, just the way it had been for 468 days. That's 11,232 hours; 973,920 minutes; 40,435,200 seconds without _him_…

Kurt stretched his arms out, his legs shaking as they extended in his sheets. He lay in bed for a second, staring up at the ceiling, and then swung his legs over the side, staying in that position for a while to run his fingers through his mass of unruly hair. He sighed and pushed himself off of the bed. The cold, wooden floor felt slick under his bare feet as he ambled over to the window, opening the blinds all the way. His eyes instinctively squinted as the broad daylight hit him at full force; _what time is it?_ He turned to the clock over the small television across from his bed. It was a little after 10, the time that Kurt normally got up at over the weekend. He stood by the window, trying to remember what his plans were for the day.

Groceries…maybe walk a mile on the treadmill…and of course, his weekly walk through Central Park. It was a tradition. He always walked through one of the most famous places in New York City, and quite honestly, it was his favorite place. Whenever he went there, he thought of _him_.

Kurt walked over to his closet to pick out an outfit to wear that day. The summer warmth was beginning to fade away, along with the green of the trees and the children that ran through the streets: fall was coming. His birthday was coming up as well; he could hardly believe he was going to be 21 soon. So many changes were taking place, but he knew one thing wouldn't change for a long time.

After taking a relatively short shower, Kurt changed into his clothes and headed into the kitchen of his apartment. As he grabbed a bowl and spoon for his Cheerios, the phone began to ring—it was Burt, much to his surprise.

"Hey, Dad, what's going on? I wasn't expecting a call from you for a while!" He exclaimed, a little puzzled yet delighted to speak with his father.

"Yeah, just felt like calling my favorite son today," Burt seemed to be in high spirits. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. I'm about to eat breakfast, and then go grocery shopping, maybe hit the treadmill and watch that documentary on Patti LuPone…and of course, go to Central Park…" Kurt let his voice trail off, a melancholy air wrapping around his words.

"About that—I heard that something exciting is happening there today; I think you should check it out. Some sort of performance. You sound a little sad, so this will probably make you feel a little better." There was a certain tone to Burt's words. Kurt couldn't quite put a finger on what Burt was on to, but he knew that there was something suspicious going on.

"You sure? I'm not sure…"

"Get there by-" Kurt heard a paper crinkling in the background, "4:25. No earlier, no later than that. Got it, kid?"

"If you're that adamant about it, then sure, Dad." He decided to play along with Burt, who was being completely obvious about whatever secret he had about Central Park.

"Thanks, Kurt. I'm sure it won't disappoint," Kurt could practically see him smile. "Love you, Kurt."

"I love you too." The line went dead. Kurt set the phone down, grabbing the cereal and pouring it into his bowl. He wondered why on earth Burt was so insistent on Kurt going to the park, especially at that specific time. He quickly got up from his seat to open the front door, finding the newspaper sitting in front of him. Opening it up to the local events, he went back to his seat and scanned for what was going on in Central Park that day…nothing in particular, just a slight discount on renting out a horse and carriage.

Burt didn't seem that demented when he called, so Kurt decided to take his word for it that something special was happening that day in the park. _Maybe it's a top-secret surprise_, Kurt wondered. _Then how the hell would a mechanic in Lima know_, he argued with himself.

"Perhaps I'm the one going crazy," Kurt said aloud, and shook his head, pouring some milk into his cereal and dipping his spoon in.

* * *

Kurt's day passed relatively quickly: thankfully there weren't many people at the supermarket, and he actually was able to get everything on his list. He even splurged a little, buying coffee-flavored ice cream (his favorite). To compensate, Kurt went on his personal treadmill for an hour, watching the documentary in front of the television in the living room. He was so sweaty afterwards that he opted to take another shower.

He took such a long time that he nearly got through singing the entire soundtrack of _Les Misérables_, making it all the way to "Bring Him Home". His fingers were pink and wrinkly as he got out of the steaming shower, his hair sticking to his forehead as he dried off the rest of his body. Kurt looked in the mirror in the bathroom, wrapping his towel around his slim waist. He swept the lock of hair off of his face, staring deeply into his own eyes. They looked almost dead. There was no excitement in his life; it seemed as if he lived through the same events every day, a perpetual cycle that seemed to have no end. He needed _something_ to happen, something to break the monotony of his life.

He changed again once he dried off, checking the clock. It was half past three; did the day really go by that quickly? Kurt quickly styled his hair and prepared his things for his walk through the park. He checked his phone: Burt had texted him before he got into the shower, reminding him that he HAD to go Central Park, or else he would be disowned. Kurt texted him back, just saying "K", since his father's persistence was becoming a bit irritating. He then made some lunch for himself (a nice, simple salad with leftover chicken…a little bland but satisfactory nonetheless) and ate slowly in peace, listening to the music of cars honking outside. By the time he finished, he still had some time before he needed to go to the park, so he decided to go to the nearby coffee shop for a latte. Thankfully it was within a block of his apartment building; the three miles he walked on the treadmill that afternoon was most certainly going to get to him as the day went on.

There weren't that many people at the shop either, and the workers were fairly competent in getting his order quickly. He sat at an empty table far away from the few customers there, sipping his hot drink which burned his tongue slightly. He felt like a ghost, passing from place to place with no purpose. Time seemed to slow down as he drank his coffee, the seconds seeming to tick by at half-speed. He sank in his seat, drumming his fingers against the table impatiently. A memory suddenly flashed before his eyes, a memory of _him_ sitting with Kurt in the front of the shop, happily drinking the coffees they ordered for each other while stealing kisses at any chance they could get. Kurt rubbed his temples, trying to force the memory where it belonged in the back of his mind, where all of those memories lied. Over time, Kurt had somewhat mastered being able to not think about _him_ at all, but sometimes the memories escaped, washing over him like a river of freezing cold water, leaving him to die of hypothermia. Somehow, however, Kurt was able to recover from those bouts of chills; a tiny flame of hope burning deep in his heart kept him going. Kurt took a deep breath, finally recovering from the pang in his chest and looking back up at the clock. It was 4; he decided to go outside and hail a taxi, taking his half-finished coffee with him.

* * *

A gust of wind attacked him as he climbed out of the cab after paying the driver, catching him off guard. He took a sip of his coffee as he entered the park, watching loads of people pass by him. Most of them traveled in groups. Some were runners getting their exercise. Very few, like Kurt, were alone. His looked at the people sitting on the benches; it looked like one woman was trying to draw a nearby lamppost. A man was snoozing, his head down in his chest. A young couple threw seeds to a large flock of greedy pigeons, the girl squealing as the boy urged the birds closer. Kurt finished his coffee, and began to search for a garbage can—there had to be one close by…

Out of nowhere, Kurt heard the strum of a guitar, a familiar set of chords he recognized instantly. He headed in the direction of the music; he assumed it was the source of the small crowd huddled around a bench; Kurt couldn't see who the guitarist was. Thankfully, there was a garbage can on the outskirts of the gathering. Kurt rushed over to throw out the cup—he guessed that he could stay and listen to one song, since he still had no idea what he was supposed to be there for. The musician continued to play the guitar, the progression of chords set in such a beautiful way that Kurt was sure he'd heard before. He stood next to an older man, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever the player was but failing miserably from the abnormally tall man in front of him.

Then, a voice rang out:

_"You think I'm pretty, without any make up on…"_

Kurt's heart stopped. His entire body froze over. _No. No. There's no way. Absolutely no way._

He stood there, numb, as the voice continued the song. It was gorgeous, even more heartfelt and passionate than ever before. That _voice_, that damn voice Kurt knew so well…

He _was there, flesh and bones, only ten feet away from him. Not thousands of miles in a faraway land as _he_ had been for 468 days, 11,232 hours; 973,920 minutes; 40,435,200 seconds…_he_ was _there_._

Kurt finally knew why he was there.

Kurt waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. Instead, his feet began to move on their own, his hands gently pushing the people to side as he parted his way to the front. He felt their eyes on him as he floated through, the song drawing him nearer and nearer.

_"Let you put your hands on me_

_In my skin-tight jeans_

_Be your teenage dream_

_Tonight"_

At the final note, Kurt made it to the front, finally seeing the guitarist in front of him. _He_ was wearing an army uniform, looking professional and masculine, _his_ hat a little lopsided, showing gelled black hair. There was an addition of a little scruff on _his_ chin, but aside from that _he_ looked the same…at least from what Kurt could tell, since he could only see _his_ profile. _His_ eyes were closed, _his_ long eyelashes jetting out and lightly touching _his_ cheeks. The fingers of _his_ right hand lightly tickled the strings of the guitar as _his_ left slowly strummed; Kurt could tell that _he_ was still completely immersed in the music that was long gone.

"That was dedicated to my boyfriend, Kurt, who, if everything went right, should be here," _he_ said nervously, bringing _his_ head up and opening _his_ eyes. Kurt stayed where he was, as still as a statue, waiting for _his_ eyes to meet his own. There was a silence in the crowd as the musician searched to his right, then in front of him, and finally to his left…

His mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes finally locking with the man's in front of him. Kurt stared back, his heart hammering against his ribcage so painfully that he thought it was going to burst open. They stood there, just gazing at each other, with everyone around them watching. Kurt didn't even realize that they were there anymore; all he could see was the beautiful man in front of him.

Finally he regained feeling in his feet, his legs, his entire body: Kurt's whole being became ignited with a need, a need that simply could not be satisfied by just looking. The man set his guitar down, standing up and holding his arms out. Kurt ran, faster than he ever had in his life, and threw his arms around the _man_ he missed so dearly. He sobbed into _his_ chest, soaking _his_ uniform. He felt the _man _shudder against him, a wetness falling on his own shoulder.

"_Blaine_," Kurt choked out, bringing his head up to look at his boyfriend in the eyes.

"Oh, _Kurt_," Blaine whispered back, tears swimming in his brilliant hazel eyes. His lips curled back into the biggest smile Kurt had ever seen in his life. Kurt couldn't help himself; he bent down and kissed Blaine with as much enthusiasm and passion as he could, trying to make up for all of the days and hours and seconds that they could have kissed, that they could have hugged, that they could have simply _looked_ at each other. Blaine responded by wrapping his arms around Kurt's hips, pulling them so close together so that there was no space in between. They stayed like that for what seemed like ages, kissing and whispering each other's names against their lips.

A few sporadic claps sounded behind them. Kurt finally broke his mouth away from Blaine's, looking out into the crowd. A woman in front had a tissue out, dabbing her red eyes. A man held a child's hand, looking nostalgic. Everyone began clapping and cheering; Kurt could not believe his eyes.

"I can't believe this," Kurt exclaimed, turning back to Blaine. Blaine smiled up at him, taking his hand in his own and squeezing it. "I can't believe you're here." He felt light-headed.

"You don't know how much I missed you," Blaine replied, cupping Kurt's cheek with his free hand.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too, I love you so much, I-" Kurt cut him off, keeping his eyes open as their lips met again; he never wanted to ever close his eyes around the stunning man in front of him again.

* * *

A/N: This idea just popped into my head awhile ago...what did you think?

My other fic, _Until Next Time_, will be updated soon, I promise! Go read! Thanks! :) xx


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